Why So Serious?
by Shaggelmalove
Summary: The creation of Harley Quinn and the shocking revelation of a new vigilante bat.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Scars

She walked straight and tall as she made her way down the main hall of Arkham Insane Asylum. Behind thick plexiglass walls and iron bars she could feel the stares and hear the whispers of nearly half of Gotham's worst. She ignored as some called out to her and refused to even look at the vulgar sights of some of the inhabitants. She kept her gaze focused on the guards ahead. She reached the end of the hall and the guards stopped her and demanded her records of identification she had been told to bring with her as well as her belongings to be searched. She willingly handed the guards her certificates and briefcase while another ran a metal detector over her. When she was cleared for entrance she was given an employee ID card to slide through the reader of the next door to her patients cell.

She walks inside the room and slides her card through the reader. It chimes and asks her to place her hand on the security scanner. She raises her right hand and presses it lightly against the equipment. It beeps and the door clicks as the bolts slide back. She steps through and looks around the padded cell. In the very center of the cell he sits. Looking down at the ground, his feet chained to the floors and his hands cuffed together in his lap. He seems to be asleep. His hair is tinted green and he wears face paint paler than the moon itself. She kneels down quietly across from him on the floor. She looks up into his face and gasps in awe at the reason that she took this job. There, red face paint put haphazardly on his legendary scars. She reaches out to touch them but a hand whips up and grabs her wrist in a crushing force. "Lookie, no touchie." He says in a sing-song voice. She stands and he releases her hand. He lifts his head to look at her. His eyes are outlined in black.

"So you're the best that Gordon could do. He's losing his touch, you know." He licks his lips and stares at her, strands of green hair falling over his dark eyes. She straightens herself and hides her fear of him. If there was thing she knew, it was that you had to hide your fear from your patients. Especially one's as dangerously insane as him. She opens her briefcase and pulls out her clipboard and a pen, taking the chair that stands across from him.

"I'm here to simply ask you a few questions, you only have to answer if you want to." She crosses her legs and rests the clipboard against her knee as a makeshift desk, adjusting her glasses. "Now, do you mine telling me your name?" He smiles and begins to laugh his famous laugh.

"Do you want to hear a story?" He asks her in a serious tone not a moment later. "About how I got these scars?" He runs a finger over his never-ending smile that only instills fear.

"If that's what you'd like to tell me, then go ahead." She sits carefully, waiting. She'd always wanted to know about them, ever since she first saw Joker on the news. He smiles.

"well, you see, when I was a little boy," he watches her with intimidating eyes as she begins to make notes, "I never used to smile around my mother. So Mommy, being the dear she always was to me, looked at me and do you know what she asks me? She asks me, 'Son, why so serious?'" His voice is low and he drags out the s. "She looks at my sister, she's smiling and so Mommy Dearest asks her to go get Daddy's razor from the bathroom. So little sister skips off and brings back our mother the razor. Mommy takes my face and do you want to know what she does? She looks at me and asks, 'Why so serious?' and she," He pauses to lick his lips and stare at Dr. Quinzel, "She takes the razor and she drags it through my lips so I'd always, have, to smile."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Therapy

I visited the Joker, as he likes to be called, four times that month; every meeting one that I had to fight to receive from Commissioner Gordon. It seemed I was getting no where and everywhere all at the same time. While I believe he's being truthful when he speaks on Batman and other such entities of his life, I believe he skips over or lies on everything else; almost like he's afraid. It's funny to think that way though, that the Joker is afraid after all the hell he caused in Gotham only three months prior to our first meeting. But, when you look at his eyes, it's like you can see a real live person in there, not just a maniacal manic causing havoc for the lunacy of it all. He's hurt, and I intend to dig for the reason why; even if I have to dig backwards to get it.

I look down at my watch, it's 6:30 in the morning, I have half an hour to get to the facility. I finish tying up my long hair and grab my briefcase as well as a Rorschach test that I want him, as well as a few of my other patients, to look at later. When I get to Arkham, there's triple security on the Joker's cell. Ahead of me, Gordon waits. "What's the meaning of this? What could he have possibly done?" I realize my voice is slightly raised after receiving a look of warning from the commissioner. "I'm sorry commissioner, but I just don't see a point in extra security when he's already chained down as it is."

"Dr., if you'll follow me to my office, there's a visitor for you." Gordon walks past me without another word and I give a small huff of annoyance before turning and following Gordon to his office. I am seated in his office which is nearly pitch black. He leaves and shuts the door behind him. In front of me, I hear another door creak open. A figure is moving in front of me, that much I can see. They take a seat at Gordon's desk and turn on his desk light. My eyes are adjusting to the light and I adjust my glasses. Ahead of me, he sits. Batman. For some reason, though I should have none, I feel a slight annoyance towards him.

"Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel, born September 11th, 1985 in Queens." He is reading off a report on Gordon's desk. "Degrees in all forms of psychology, studied at NYU. Sounds good, Dr. Now tell me, have you any idea what you've gotten yourself into?"

"What are you talking about?" I demand of him, trying my best to keep my voice level with patience.

"The Joker. What do you know about his escape from Arkham over the past weekend?" Shock overflows my body as I sink in this news. The extra security... I shudder at what they must be doing to the poor thing. This is what I get for taking one weekend to travel out to Queens and leave Gotham; the poor thing...

"I-I had no clue he escaped... is he alright? Is he hurt?" I'm on the edge of my seat, something he doesn't fail to notice. I lean back a bit. "If you don't mind, I'd like to wrap this up. Not only are you wasting my professional time with the Joker, but I have at least five other sessions today." He growls slightly and stands, leaving the room. I take that as my cue to be able to leave and gather my briefcase in my hands and make my way back Joker.

I'm allowed into his cell and I'm horrified at the sight. Not only are his original chains still binding him, he's wrapped up tight in a straightjacket and chains wrap around his legs and chest tightly; tying him like an animal to the wooden chair. The green in his hair is fading and untended cuts riddle his face; a black eye easily seen around the deserting black face-paint that covers his eyes. I rush over to him and and look at the wounds up close. Immediately, I practically break into my briefcase and desperately dig for my band-aids I keep on hand. In front of me, he begins to laugh. I look up at him.

"What's so funny about you being hurt?" He takes a moment to calm down.

"Harleen Quinzel." He reads off of my papers. "Rearrange it and you get Harley Quinn, sound familiar?" He licks his lips like he often does.

"I know, I've heard it. Harley Quinn sounds like the clown character Harlequin."

"Precisely my point, Harley. Do you mind? I think I'm gonna call you that for short, Harley Quinn."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

She'd been his therapist for a full six months now, and to this day he still captivated her attention more than any other patient she'd ever talked to. All over of her bedroom were notes on him plastered to her wall with tape. She was completely obsessed in solving the riddle of his mind that it almost seemed she was losing her own in the very process. It was killing her trying to piece together the incidents in his life that would have left him scarred like he was. All the while she was also so captivated by those dark brown eyes that held so much knowledge of his world, that allowed her to see into the dark pits of his mind as he raged about Batman to her when he'd be returned to Arkham after an escape that would leave her trailing the news headlines like her life depended on them. She by now even grew fond of the pale face-paint that he constantly wore, even when he was jailed in Arkham, and the bloody red painted wounds that still looked like a wire-mesh fence had been dragged through his lips. Oh, those scars! They kept her mind buzzing and constantly frustrated her trying to find the truth behind them!

Harley pounded her fists against her dresser once again as for the millionth time she scoured her notes from the day's session with the man that managed to make her so damned angry and so damned intrigued all at the damn time! She cursed and wiped the papers off her dresser in a frustrated swipe of the arm. She had been so busy pouring over them, she never noticed the appearance of a rose standing on her bedside table. She turned towards it, her curiosity sparked by the odd coloration of the carefully painted petals and leafed stem. The petals were black and the stem was a deep red with a black satin bow tied around it. It smelled strongly of drying paint.

Harley moved it aside and looked for a note anywhere around it. She was rewarded with a small slip of paper buried into the black petals. As she dug it out, some of the drying black paint smudged on the edges of her fingers, but she could hardly care as she opened the folded paper.

_For the harlequin in my life, - J _

The next day as Harley reported to Arkham Insane Asylum at seven am as always. She went to Doctor Leland's office, the head of psychiatry at the asylum, and knocked on the door twice. "Come in, the door's open," was the response that Harley received. She opened the door and took a seat in the wooden chair opposite of Doctor Leland's desk. "Good morning, Dr. Quinzel. As you know, you are here for your biannual assessment." Harley nodded and placed her briefcase on the floor beside her, straightened up her back, and folded her hands neatly in her lap.

"Well, Miss Quinzel," Dr. Leland continued onward, "I do believe you were doing fairly well these past six months with our patients. You've made somewhat of an improvement in Edward Nigma, and most of your other patients seem to like you as well, however," Dr. Leland folded her hands on the desk and leaned forward slightly as she continued speaking to Harley, "I've noticed that you've been spending an exemplary amount of time on just one patient." Harley looked down slightly, she knew exactly where this was going.

"Dr. Leland, I know I've been spending more time than I should on the Joker's case," Harley started in her defense, "But the way that all of you talk about him around here, you make it seem like he'll never change. You make it seem like he's some man caught in between a child and the devil in his soul, but I see otherwise. Dr. Leland, he really seems like a person to me." Harley raises her eyes to her boss. "Dr., I think he can change, and I think I can help him. I believe in him, and I think that's all he's ever wanted was someone who would take the chance and listen to what he had to say." Harley takes a breath before continuing on. "And maybe because the world was just too blind towards him, he felt like he had to make them look, and maybe the only way was to blow things up... or give himself a permanent smile." With that, Harley stands up, gathers her briefcase from the floor, and leaves before Dr. Leland can even finish her assessment.


End file.
